I recently traveled home to see my mom who hasn’t been well. One afternoon, she asked me to check in her closet to make sure her purse was where she left it when she got sick. I knelt down to open the drawer and noticed an old address book filled with papers and envelopes. One envelope stuck out more than others and I immediately recognized my father’s handwriting. I slid the envelope out of the book and was surprised to see it was a letter he had written and mailed to me when I was a junior in college. My heart leapt as I peered inside and found a three page letter.

I found my mom’s purse, put the letter in my bag, and slipped away to go sit and read my dad’s words.

It started with, “Dear Lori, It was so good to hear your sweet voice yesterday.”

My father died 25 years ago, but I could hear his voice so clearly as I sat with that letter.

I sat and read about all that was going on at home. At the end of the letter he made a list of several things he wanted me to know. The first was that he was proud of me. The second was that He knew God would help me to walk on the right path. And of course, at the end, he wanted me to know how much he loved me.

I read the letter to my sister and we both cried.

That day in particular had been a tough one, and my dad’s words just helped us both. They brought comfort and reassurance. Because even though they had been written almost 30 years ago, it felt like I was reading them for the first time. His words encouraged me in the present moment.

I am sure that when I received that letter in college, I did not appreciate it as much as I did so many years later. In fact, I know I didn’t.

And I am sure that my recent day improved because my dad had taken the time to write a letter.

We don’t write letters anymore. In a recent New York Times article, it said, “Over the past decade, the number of first-class mail items sent through the Postal Service has dropped by more than 50 percent. Not counting holiday cards and invitations, the average American household receives just 10 pieces of personal mail per year. “

The article also talked about how writing letters benefits the letter writer as well. In one study, A professor named Steven Toepfer, asked people to write three “letters of gratitude” in a month.

Toepfer found that with each letter, “the writers experienced higher levels of happiness and life satisfaction, and lower levels of depressive symptoms.”

So basically, not only is a hand-written letter a gift to the recipient, but also to writer.

As I read and reread my dad’s letter, I knew it mattered more to me now than it did when I received it in college. I often send nice texts to my daughters, but I rarely send them handwritten notes. Thirty years from now, I doubt they will be able to find that text I sent. But they might find a letter. And it might matter.

Let’s start taking the time to write some letters to each other. My college roommate once decided to write a letter a day during Lent and I was one of the lucky ones to find a handwritten letter in my mailbox. What a gift to find something other than bills in my mailbox. What a gift to read her words.

It is one reason I created my Have I Told You lately cards. I just think the act of writing down our love for someone else matters. It’s an easy way to write short, meaningful notes to our children. Let’s start there. And then let’s take some time to write a handwritten note to someone we love.

You never know when they might need to read those words a second or third time.

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I stood in a long line at Sam’s Club the other day, waiting to place my items on the conveyor belt. It was Saturday, but I felt weary from a long week and in between scrolling messages on my phone, I reviewed a mental check list of all that I needed to do that day. As the line progressed, I became aware of the cashier’s voice, speaking to the customers.

“You ok, Miss Cheryl?” he asked. “You seem awfully quiet today.”

My first thought was, “How often does this woman come to Sam’s Club??”

My second thought, after looking at Cheryl, was “She does look kind of sad and tired.”

I watched as she half-smiled and nodded and told the cashier that she was doing ok. His name was Carl.

He grinned her way and said, “Ok. I hope so. I don’t like to see my friend not acting like herself.”

Her smile grew bigger, they talked for a quick minute, and she looked a little less weary as she took her receipt to leave.

I surmised that Carl must have just known Cheryl outside of work until I heard him call another customer by name, asking them something specific about their week.

I liked him. And when it was my turn, I experienced Carl’s kindness in the same way. He didn’t seem rushed or annoyed to be there and in a matter of minutes, I felt less anxious about my long list and just kind of enjoyed the moment. More than anything, I enjoyed watching Carl make people feel welcome in the middle a busy store.

It seemed that Carl’s goal wasn’t just about scanning items and getting through his day, but more about connecting with the people along his path. (and just a side note, he was still really efficient at getting everyone through the long line.)

As I left, I felt a little lighter, a little more content, a little less self-absorbed and rushed.

I thought about this as I drove home. I thought about how I have been told that our thoughts shape our day and how what we think about is a choice and how we can choose to think negative thoughts or positive thoughts and how important all of that is.

I believe that is true for the most part. It’s amazing to me how two people can walk through similar situations and one is drowning in negativity and can’t quite embrace their circumstances, while another sees the glass as half full and experiences joy regardless of their pain or struggle. I always want to be THAT person, but often find myself slipping into the sludge of self-defeat and weariness.

And on the sludge-filled days, I really struggle to speak truth to myself. It isn’t that I don’t want to; It just feels like a struggle.

I have had several days in recent weeks of just feeling weary. Life will do that sometimes, right?

Here is what I have noticed recently though.

When I have encountered joyful people on days like this, my own demeanor has been changed.

And when I say, “joyful people,” I don’t mean those people who hold poms poms in your face and jump up and down and say, “Ohhhhh! It’s a great day! It’s a great day! Yay!!”

I mean people like Carl. People who take the time to see others and make an effort to connect.

I am guessing that Cheryl, that woman in line ahead of me, left Sam’s Club feeling different than when she arrived. I could see it on her face.

Recently, I was on an airplane, heading home after a trip to be with my mom who has been ill. To be honest, I was exhausted both emotionally and physically and could have easily closed my eyes and slipped deeper into my sadness. But then this couple, Cara and Kevin, asked the “Are these seats taken,” question and their kindness and joy transformed the weight of the burden I carried. They didn’t know it. They weren’t trying to share three points with me about how to feel better; they were just present and easy to be with and their joy was contagious. They asked questions, but not in an overbearing way. If I am honest, I haven’t wanted to have a conversation on an airplane in a really long time. But that young couple made a difference in my day just by being present and sharing their joy. For a little while, I forgot about my exhaustion.

Another day at church, I sat down next to two college students I know and we caught up and laughed and connected for awhile. It wasn’t a complicated conversation. It was just time to connect. To not rush. To ask a few questions and to give each other a hug. We didn’t solve a list of problems, but we inched closer to joy together and it changed the course of my day.

Yes, we can strive to think truth and think positive thoughts, but I really don’t know how effective that is without community. Without human connection.

Life is filled with painful circumstances. But here is something I know. There are good days too. What if on those good days, we ask the Lord to show us who is in a rut or who is struggling or who might need someone to ask if they are doing ok today? You never know what a difference it might make. For both of you.

Whenever I talk to one of my dear friends, I almost always end the conversation with “I feel so much better after talking to you.” I think she would say the same thing. She always knows when I am teetering around the sludge and she encourages me to talk about it. We both have learned that vulnerability and authentic connection usually helps to detour those spiraling thought patterns that try to lure us into the pit.

It can be so easy to forget just how much we need each other.

Thanks for the reminder, Carl.

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When my husband and I were first married, we hosted a dinner for our families. My parents were in town and things felt a bit tense for reasons I won’t go into now, but let’s just say I wanted everything to be perfect. I scrubbed our townhouse for days, dragging Steve along the cleaning train with me. I tried to plan the perfect menu even though I hadn’t really cooked for a lot of people at this point in my younger life. If all else failed, I was confident that dessert would be a huge success. I had a bundt cake recipe that was melt in your mouth delicious and would be the perfect end to my perfect dinner.

As I took the cake out of the oven and flipped it over, I discovered to my horror that half of the cake was still clinging to the top of the pan. And there on my perfect little plate was a crumbling mess of a cake. I looked at my husband and crumbled along with that bundt cake. All of my anxieties started oozing out of me and I started to cry. And then I panicked. And started running around the kitchen saying that I needed to bake another cake. (Which was a little tricky since my guests were coming in a matter of hours and I still had some cleaning and cooking and showering to do.) In spite of Steve’s reassurance that the cake was fine, I sped to the store and ran through the aisles like a unhinged woman, grabbing whatever ingredients I could find. At home, I quickly threw the ingredients into the bowl as my husband tried to help in any way he could. (Quietly I might add as I think I might have been scaring him a little.) Long story short, when I dumped that new cake onto the tray, it looked absolutely perfect.

Phew. I could hear Steve breathe a sigh of relief.

We survived that dinner. Overall, the night was a success and Steve and I high-fived each other in celebration of our survival. As we cleaned up the kitchen together, I looked at the broken bundt cake that Steve had saved, not wanting to throw it out because – well, it was cake. I reached under the saran wrap, grabbed a small piece and popped it into my mouth. My eyes grew wide as I slowly chewed the sweet goodness. I grabbed another piece and held it to Steve’s mouth saying, ‘You have to try this.” It was the best version of that cake I had ever made. It tasted so much better than that other cake I had insisted be perfect. Truth be told, that “perfect” version was actually a bit dry and bland. But that broken version. It was cake heaven. And all of my guests had missed it because I was unwilling to serve imperfection.

What if our brokenness is where we find the most beauty?

I thought of this story as I have been working to finish my Have I Told You lately card project. During the entire process, I have carried an image in my head of what I wanted everything to look like and I can’t tell you how stuck I often got because of it. I almost didn’t finish, because it wasn’t as perfect as I wanted it to be. In fact, if you order a set today, the first printing has several little goofs. It says there are 80 cards, when it fact, you will get quite a few more than 80. A couple of the cards aren’t quite what I thought when I sent them to the printer, and a few other things need to be refined and fixed. I told a friend that I was just going to move forward because if I couldn’t embrace the imperfections of my product, no one was ever going to see it. And I so want you to see it. I am not saying it is cake heaven, but I really think this is a product worth sharing. And not only that, your kind encouragement and support have been an unexpected gift. I can’t tell you how much it has meant to me.

Our brokenness is where we find the beauty. When we are willing to be vulnerable and take risks and love without guarantees, our broken looks a lot more whole than perfection.

I hope these cards will help you to share your imperfect heart and love with the little ones in your life whom you love so beautifully. You can purchase them here.